


Yesterday's Bouquet So Sadly Raided

by loveinamaltshop



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, More emotions than porn, Rough Sex, bottom!Brendon, mild dirty talk, present day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 01:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinamaltshop/pseuds/loveinamaltshop
Summary: There was a time when Ryan was warm and bright. Cracked open window slats and dinners at home. Making love on childhood beds. Avoiding the question but answering it somehow at the end of the day, always.The years have been too long.





	Yesterday's Bouquet So Sadly Raided

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Charles Bukowski's "One Night Stand."

He fucks Brendon till he sees lights that aren’t in the room.

“Let’s keep it in the dark, baby,” Ryan insisted, but they didn’t need to. Brendon felt no reason to hide anymore. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Brendon tastes copper.

It’s unclear whether if it’s from his mouth or Ryan’s but there’s a hand on his jaw that pries his mouth open. Ryan leans over with the pretense of a kiss and spits into his mouth.

Brendon gasps, swallows.

He hears an ambulance in the distance, wailing, sees the bright flashes, remembers vaguely the science behind the Doppler effect, louder and it’s closer, and closer, and it’s a tongue against the shell of his ear. It’s a well-heard, “You’re not complaining, are you?”

Brendon shakes his head and yearns to see him. To see what the scritch of a beard looks like, to prove they’ve truly aged. That they’re truly different now. Because it’s been two years short of a decade since they last did this, some messy tumble that was more like a fist fight with the venom and the blood— 

The blood in his mouth. It’s his. Coming from his lower lip. Could Ryan taste that too?

“You’re still a good boy,” and it’s not broken coming from Ryan, not at all, if they tell themselves that. “Such a good little boy for me, huh, baby?”

Brendon whimpers open-mouthed (he’s never had a choice), and clenches around Ryan. He knows Ryan hates it, wants him to stay relaxed and pliant. The willing tight hole he always was.

He wants to see Ryan so, so badly.

He can feel him, hear him, years of cigarettes roughs his voice up like a screaming match. The calluses are familiar, rough where they’ve lowered themselves around his throat. Brendon makes a pleased noise.

_ I’m underneath the wave,  _ Brendon thinks, his breathing becoming shorter and shorter as Ryan’s fingers tighten around his throat,  _ can’t you see, Ryan? You’re the ocean. You’ve always been the ocean. _

“You want it, baby?” 

Brendon does, and water fills his lungs. His fingers claw at Ryan’s back but a deft hand pins one of his wrists down. The other falls limply to his side.

“You’re not making a compelling point.”

Brendon nods, and he loses sight of the shoreline.

There was a time when Ryan was warm and bright. Cracked open window slats and dinners at home. Making love on childhood beds. Avoiding the question but answering it somehow at the end of the day,  _ always _ .

The years have been too long. 

Ryan’s hips angle themselves as he pushes Brendon’s legs to his chest, letting go of his throat and wrist. Setting him free, but not quite. He thrusts in, and stars rush in behind Brendon’s eyelids. 

“Fuck, Ryan,” he cries out pathetically. 

“Giving in already?” Ryan asks, like only one of them is going to come out alive. 

“Please,” Brendon begs. “Please, please, please.”

He wants to see Ryan. His Ryan. 

“Alright, slut,” Ryan chuckles darkly before he’s fucking into Brendon’s hole, because they both have something to prove. Ryan’s is just a little less obvious. 

Brendon can feel the sweat on the back of his neck creep onto the pillowcase and he feels disgusting, wants to change sides of the bed but Ryan’s driving his cock in and out of him and it’s fucking good, it’s fucking familiar. It’s making him writhe and groan himself hoarse.

He can’t get used to it. 

That was the deal. 

He hears the sirens again. Police car this time. Doppler effect, Doppler effect. Close, close—

“Turn over,” Ryan commands through gritted teeth.

— away and gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! So I feel like this fic is a little bit of an apology more than anything. I've disappeared off the face of the earth and resurfaced only pretty recently. I can blame school, but come on, it's just my shitty time management. Apparently self-imposed hiatuses get me into Ryden? 
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoyed! Any comment or kudos is more than appreciated! Don't be afraid to hit me up on my tumblr, [@loveinamaltshop](http://loveinamaltshop.tumblr.com).


End file.
